


A Fire on the Ocean

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comforting Dean Winchester, Depressed Castiel, Depression, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Inspired by Music, Internal Monologue, M/M, Ocean, POV Dean, POV Dean Winchester, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 15:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18472015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Like Cas, the same haunting thoughts play on repeat in my head to this day. Cas’s just keep him in bed sometimes.Or in this case, in this cabin, our mini-home away from home on the ocean.





	A Fire on the Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> *Victor Henriksen voice* Hey guys, it's been a while.
> 
> Life has just been busy. All for the good. But don't think I forgot about Ao3. <3

_So open your eyes you're alive_

_Another fine night near the ocean_

_Please don't cry, it's alright_

_You're always going to be my darling_

_~ “Footfalls”, Tyson Motsenbocker_

A Fire on the Ocean

It’s a strange position to be in.

It’s on me to be everything at once, while also feeling like nothing—like I’m too puny and powerless and insignificant to actually change anything.

How the fuck does that work?

We’ve sat here for the last three days. No matter how many times the ocean licks its dry, sandy lips it can’t remove the imprints of our bodies from the sand.

“Do you know why I like the ocean?” he asks.

I shake my head as I let the third fistful of sand slip through my fingers.

“It’s quiet,” he replies. “But also loud. Just like it’s gentle, but sometimes violent. Like when the waves get too high. Everyone underneath gets sucked in, but they come out unscathed—laughing, even, sometimes, for being taken off guard. Even though it can be vicious and deadly, people still love the ocean.”

I nudge him softly. Cas just came out of a catatonic state, so it’s best to save stronger, more firmer touches. It’s kind of like shaking a sleepwalker awake if I don’t. “Are you suggesting I’m the ocean?”

I know I’m not the ocean. I’m just waiting for him to correct me.

“No,” he says after a few beats, shifting his focus to the small bonfire dancing between us. “No one man can be an ocean.”

“Nor can he be an island.”

Cas looks up at me then. It’s like the ocean was made as a mold of his eyes. It’s like the entire universe was made around Cas. At least, that’s what I thought when I met him. “John Donne. You did pay attention during my lectures.”

His smile is small, but it holds as much value as a first place trophy. I return the smile and shrug.

“You never believed me.  But then again, I never really was taking the right kinda notes…”

“No wonder you failed open note tests.”

I chuckle as I’m forced to face that I’m really not an ocean—I’m not sure if I want to be either; that’s a lot of responsibility for one man to take on.

If it isn’t obvious, I’ve had a lot of time to think. I’ve come to learn I not only _really_ like to marinate in self-pity, but that I’ve been thrust into this position since birth—to fill a role that isn’t mine but became my responsibility somehow.  It’s like I’m inside the heart of a house fire. I can either grab an extinguisher or be engulfed in the flames. Or, a rare third option that seems more Buddhist than anything: Walk away from the burning fire. Walk away before the soot and smoke fill my lungs.

But it’s hard for me to walk away from my family. My home. So, in a way, I’m trapped too. The flames are licking me so I feel the burn, but in a different way. It’s like I have a suit on while everyone else around me is unprotected and exposed to the flames, and _that’s_ when I feel a burn. It’s psychological, but that’s the worst degree. I’d almost prefer physical harm.

I had no choice. See, I actually had to run out of a burning house when I was little. But I also sort of lost myself since then. If I lost anymore of myself, I may as well have burned up with the fire.

Like Cas, the same haunting thoughts play on repeat in my head to this day. Cas’s just keep him in bed sometimes.

Or in this case, in this cabin, our mini-home away from home on the ocean.

“You know, fires don’t just destroy,” I say. “Sure, they steal your oxygen, and if they get big enough, they can block your view of the good in front of you. But they can give you light and warmth, too. You taught me that.”

Cas keeps his eyes fixed on the fire. “Not like this.”

“Yes, even like this,” I reassure. “Whether you’re riding the high seas or the low seas, you help me in ways I never thought were possible. Just you being alive’s…”

My breath hitches. Cas must hear it or take notice, because he tears his gaze away to move closer to me. His hand finds mine effortlessly, the same way the water finds the shore just then, and squeezes.

“You’re not the ocean,” he says, lifting our joined hands to wipe a tear I didn’t know was falling from my eye, “and you’re not a fire. You’re Dean Winchester. And I’m Castiel Novak. _That’s_ what we have to give to each other, and I’ll remind the arsonist upstairs that it’s damn well enough. Can you do the same?”

I nod silently, holding back more tears. Maybe I’m not an ocean. But maybe I’m still making a difference and I’m too overwhelmed by the bigger picture to see that. Sometimes just being born helps someone significantly. The way me being born helped my brother, Sam—who I rescued from the fire all those years ago—and my dad, who got out of his own responsibilities when the fire consumed his mind and left him in a mental institute for a good ten years.

I can’t say the same for my mom, since the fire consumed her body instead. I hope I made her happy for the first four years she knew me.

Cas has known me for four years now, and even though I can’t always fight the fire consuming his own mind, maybe what little power and significance I have can save him from burning up.

And by the way he’s looking at me now; I realize I was never the kerosene that caused the house fire like I convinced myself: I’ve always been the bucket of water trying to put it out.

And even if it’s just a bucket of water, it’s what I have to offer—it’ll help in some way. So I’m not _completely_ powerless.

 

 

Well… except maybe when Cas kisses me.

This is _one_ exception where powerlessness is the best feeling in the world.

 

 

 


End file.
